


tears and pain, but I feel celestial

by AnnaAphrodite



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Accidently refreshed while trying to tag and had to restart the entire thing, Gen, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Imprisonment, so that's fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaAphrodite/pseuds/AnnaAphrodite
Summary: Anne wondered what His Majesty was doing right now. Probably rejoicing with Seymour, happy that he would be freed from his burden in form of his unloving wife. She knew how Henry played his game, loving, sweet, and full of adoration and obsession in the first years, but then he would change. In the first years of their marriage, she could almost forget that she wanted nothing to do with him.
Kudos: 16





	tears and pain, but I feel celestial

**Author's Note:**

> Got a big fic coming soon! [Follow me on tumblr!](https://tumblr.com/blog/apho-sappho)

When she had been younger, Anne had remembered seeing a play by the title of Farsa de Inês Pereira. She was young and had not the patience to get emotionally invested in something like that, however some of it had stuck with her. She had forgotten all but a few key characters, namely Inês and Brás da Mata. She could remember how Brás da Mata had locked up Inês, and how Brás da Mata had a servant who had helped him. Locked in the tower, she could relate to Inês a lot better than when she had been 19, for she had also been tricked into marrying a man, only for him to abuse her and lock her up.

She idly wondered what she could’ve done to avoid him, the only good that had come from their relationship was her darling Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Elizabeth, she missed her child. Her daughter was so young and sweet, what would become of her? Would Henry lock her up and throw her away, such as he had done with Mary and Anne herself? Or, would Henry be a man of mercy, and much like she did with Mary, appoint her to the household of whatever daughters the Seymour girl had? She could only hope her dear daughter would be happy.

She had already agreed to a divorce, but something told her that he wouldn’t let her out that easily. She pulled on her string of pearls, already planning what she’d wear to her execution. A gable hood, definitely, and a scarlet kirtle. She wanted to be pitied by the public, put doubts in their mind about the king. She didn’t care now, Henry wasn’t one to pick up on subtleties. She didn’t know if this was subtle, however. She was basically waving a big red flag at him. She wished to be known as a martyr.

She couldn’t help but feel a pang of grief at the thought she’d never see her family. She would never hear her brother’s witty jokes, or his poetry, she would never hear Mary’s chirp like laugh, or her mother’s soothing voice, or her father’s gentle warnings. She’d never experience them again. Mary would never get another letter from George, because of her. She felt a tear run down her face, much to the pity of Mary Kingston, the woman who was waiting on her. Pots clanged overhead from the kitchen.

She was already ashamed of herself for babbling to the ladies, who no doubt reported it back to Cromwell. She hoped His Majesty had not downgraded to an axe. She wondered what William Kingston had said about her outburst, what he had said of her laughing. She hoped he had not incriminated her more.

Anne wondered what His Majesty was doing right now. Probably rejoicing with Seymour, happy that he would be freed from his burden in form of his unloving wife. She wondered if he would grow old of her. She knew how Henry played his game, loving, sweet, and full of adoration and obsession in the first years, but then he would change. In the first years of their marriage, she could almost forget that she wanted nothing to do with him. But then she kept having miscarriages, and in the span of 3 years, she could not have a son. Only her little Elizabeth.

She sighed, looking at Mary Kingston for a second, before turning her head. Lady Kingston was a supporter of Catherine, and by association, Jane.

She wondered what Lady Mary had thought when she had learned that Anne had been imprisoned. Had she thought that she deserved it? Had she felt sorry for Elizabeth, not wanting her to go through what she had gone through? Anne knew Mary was fascinated by Elizabeth, spending as much time singing and sewing for the young 2-year-old.

She remembered the council which had condemned her to her fate. It included her own father, her uncle and her betrothed, Henry Percy. She knew he could not control it, or he’d get executed, but she still felt hurt and betrayed. She felt bad for her father, having to condemn his own daughter and son to death because of a thing he had opposed in the first place. She hoped her family would not feel as much guilt as she could imagine they’d feel. She did not want them to live their lives in misery.

She missed her brother. Her dear, dear brother. She dragged him into this. She wished His Majesty would just take her and spare her brother. He had a wife, who he was planning to have kids with.

At least he spared her sister, who had kids. She felt terrible for turning away her dear sister in her time of need. At least she gave her something before she got executed, hopefully she could sustain herself. Mary was always smart. Claude had said not as smart as herself, but she felt that Mary was more emotion smart, while Anne had cut off most emotions ever since His Majesty had decided that he could disregard her feelings and marry her without her consent.

She missed Margaret and Claude. At least she would be reconnected with them soon, if all goes well for his majesty.

She rubbed at her eyes again, trying to stop the tears from flowing. She missed her old play mate, Renee, who was always so sweet to her. She missed France and the Netherlands. She loved the beautiful gardens, especially the ones in the courtyards. She loved Margaret’s hunting lodge, where she had picked up her love for riding. She even missed her teacher.

She missed how easy it was to find a famous artist in the French Court, and the music! Oh, the music. English music was okay, but it didn’t have the charm of the French.

She wondered if Renee would miss her. She wondered if her parents, or Mary would miss her. Would Elizabeth even remember her? Would she remember the care she put into her upbringing, the money she had spent to give her clothes and the best teachers? Would she remember the strings she had pulled? She hoped her daughter would honor her.

She wondered if England would remember her. Would she have a legacy? Would she be remembered as a Queen, or would supporters of Seymour and Catherine taint her reputation, and twist her as an evil temptress who killed anyone she crossed? What would happen to her brother and sister’s reputation? She could only pray they would be spared. She hoped her parents and uncle would be spared too.

On May 19th, Brás da Mata had won.

**Author's Note:**

> My only personality trait is Anne Boleyn
> 
> Kinda crappy cause it was an assignment for English class.


End file.
